Burdens
by rslhilson
Summary: Wilson gives himself a dose of chemotherapy so he can experience firsthand what it is like for his patients. Written for Sick!Wilson Fest on LJ. H/W friendship; slash goggles optional.


_Burdens_

**Sick!Wilson Fest Round 7, Prompt #1: **Wilson gives himself a dose of chemotherapy so he can experience firsthand what it is like for his patients.  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>General spoilers for Seasons 7 and 8.

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><p>House carefully sidestepped the discarded IV pole, noting the label on the hanging silver bag as he observed the scene before him.<p>

"You have a tumor I don't know about?" he asked. He'd considered outright demanding why Wilson had apparently given himself a hefty dose of chemotherapy, but that would have been too easy.

The oncologist was huddled over the garbage can on the floor of his office, leaning wearily against the side of his desk. The lights were dimmed and the curtains drawn, his ragged breathing the only indication that the room was even occupied.

"Shut the door," Wilson muttered hoarsely, closing his eyes as another wave of nausea hurdled through his stomach.

House obeyed, flinching as the compliant _click _was immediately followed by the sound of Wilson bringing up his half-eaten lunch (the other half now somewhat less settled in House's own stomach).

"It's not what you think," Wilson managed at last, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "I'm not sick."

"Yeah, you look just peachy." House tossed him a water bottle from the desk before easing himself onto the floor beside him, wrinkling his nose at the stench of vomit.

Wilson took a swig of water and let his head fall back against the mahogany side, exhausted. "How'd you know I was here?" he asked.

"Do you doubt the power of my Wilson Locator Device?" House deadpanned, though Wilson's unsatisfied frown pushed him to continue. "You weren't scarfing down latkes downstairs, so something was obviously up."

"Crap," Wilson groaned. "I forgot about the holiday party."

"You forgot about free food?" House scoffed. "Have I taught you nothing?"

Wilson answered with another impromptu heave. House waited until he was done, forming a silent question with raised eyebrows and a gesture towards the garbage bin. Wilson nodded weakly in response, watching as House stood and carried it out of the office. He didn't care to know where it had been discarded as the open-and-shut of the door signaled House's return, instead accepting the new one with a grimace of thanks.

"I think I'm okay now," he said, though he didn't release his clutch on the bin.

House's half-amused snort lacked the harsh emphasis of his usual demeanor as he re-settled himself on the floor beside Wilson. "People who are okay don't run poison through their veins for no reason," he said.

"Says the drug addict," Wilson muttered. He seemed to be waiting for another one of House's usual sarcastic retorts, but the quiet had already resumed.

Normally House would have continued to push him for the fun of it, or out of sheer necessity if Really Stubborn Wilson had morphed into Really, Really Stubborn Wilson, but this was neither of those times. His earlier nudging had been enough, carefully calculated to get Wilson just over the edge and headed for an eventual surrender. There was no reason to send glass bottles flying into antique mirrors before he even knew how bad the situation was – or at least, how much worse it was beyond the mere chemo stunt.

Eventually, Wilson spoke again on his own accord. "I have a patient," he offered quietly. "Her name is Anna."

House probably should have seen that one coming. "Are we talking Grace #2?" he asked.

Wilson shook his head. "She's 10," he said. "Leukemia."

Correction: House probably should have seen _that _one coming. Most would find peds the most depressing ward in the hospital (or the most annoying, if you were House), but to Wilson, it was the one place where toys and crayons and innocent smiles abounded. What hurt him the most to be there was what simultaneously made his job bearable – _sick _kids meant the prospect of sending home _healthy_ kids who could grow up beyond the sterilized walls of a hospital.

"I was trying to explain why she had to stay in the hospital over Christmas," Wilson continued with a sigh. "All she wanted was one day at home. She told me I couldn't be sorry because I didn't understand." He ran a tired hand over his face, grimacing. "And the thing is, she was right."

"But you _were _sorry about it," House pointed out. "Not that it was actually your fault."

"Yeah, but I've never been stuck in the hospital with a terminal illness over the holidays. Telling her I knew how hard it was – that was a lie. And _don't _just tell me everybody does it."

It wasn't that Wilson hadn't been in this position before. He might have been the most personable doctor in the hospital, but working in oncology was enough to ruin anyone's track record. The difference, House knew, was that the accusations were coming from a _child_, a 10-year-old girl who was supposed to be decorating the windows with paper snowflakes instead of coming to realize what all of the adult patients already knew. The winter wonderland of the peds ward was a cheery illusion that she had too quickly discovered, and Wilson was bearing the blame.

Like an idiot, as usual.

House shifted his aching leg a little, trying to decide how best to get Wilson to concede the sheer stupidity of his reaction. "So now you know," he said at last. "Chemo sucks, whoop-de-doo."

"I knew it wouldn't help her," Wilson admitted. "I just wanted a glimpse, that's all."

"You didn't need to actually dose yourself. How long have you been a doctor, again?"

Wilson grimaced. "Just because you've been there for others doesn't mean you understand what it actually feels like."

"Do you know what you'd be if you dosed yourself for every patient who thought you didn't understand?" House retorted. "You'd be _dead._"

Normally his tone would have only raised Wilson's motivation in their game, but Wilson, too exhausted to fight back, merely closed his eyes instead. "I know it was stupid, alright? But I did it and it's done, and now we can all move on with our lives."

House raised his eyebrows. "Can we?"

Wilson met his gaze again. "_Can't _we?"

"What if this wasn't a one-time thing? What if the next kid who cries about being sick has you signing up for radiation and a BMT?"

"House, _one _dose of chemotherapy isn't – "

"Yeah," House agreed, "_one. _But the next time it'll be two, and then three, and then – "

"What about _you_, Mr. King-of-Self-Destruction?" Wilson interrupted. "You pull any more tumors out of your leg or drive your car into any more houses recently?"

"If you want to make this about me,"House replied coolly, "what if I don't want to be left out of all this _understanding_ crap? Maybe you should go and see what an infarction feels like."

"Maybe I should," Wilson murmured.

House rolled his eyes. "It's called an analogy – "

"Why not?" Wilson pressed. "You're in pain every second of every day while the rest of us get to climb stairs and go for runs. Why shouldn't I see what that's like? Why shouldn't I know your pain?"

"You have enough of your own as it is," House scoffed.

"Me?" Wilson let out a bitter laugh. "I'm perfectly healthy."

House would have laughed right along with him, if only it had actually been funny. "So you think you don't suffer enough because you're an able-bodied superhero doctor – boo hoo. That's got you feeling all guilty inside, and somehow you think that experiencing other people's pain is going to make it go away."

"I'm not a teenage girl cutting herself in the bathroom because I feel _guilty_," Wilson retorted. "You, Anna, the rest of my patients – I have no idea what it's like, to be in all that pain all the time. Would a little perspective kill me?"

House kept his gaze steady. "You've lost three wives to emotional wreckage – the first one twice – and a girlfriend to a bus crash," he said slowly. "Your patients can count their life expectancy on one hand, your brother's lost his mind, and your best friend is a crippled delinquent. You'll dose yourself with chemo because your patients are in pain, but who's going to rip their heart to shreds because _you're _in pain?"

And there it was – the tense lines softening around Wilson's eyes, his facial muscles giving up their stubborn fight. It was a subtle, blink-of-an-eye admission of defeat that only House had come to recognize with ease, but he didn't consider it a victory. It had never been about winning and losing.

"We're all hurting," House continued quietly. "And yeah, it sucks. But all we can do is deal with our own crap. If chemo was a prescription for heartbreak, we'd all be bald-headed freaks by now."

Wilson took a deep breath as he relented to House's reasoning, his shoulders finally relaxing as he exhaled. "I guess the one good thing about dealing with our own crap is that we don't have to go it alone," he said at last.

House nodded. "If you're lucky, then no – you don't."

"Then I'm a lucky man."

House glanced over in silent appreciation of their stupid, screwed up friendship, knowing that he didn't have to wonder if his mutual reply was already evident. Instead, he said, "That kid is lucky, too."

The beginnings of a smile were interrupted by a groan. "I'm not sure she'll agree when her doctor calls in sick tomorrow," Wilson muttered through the nausea.

"She hates you anyway," House reminded him, and this time even Wilson couldn't hold back a smile.

When he was fairly certain that Wilson's vomiting stage had passed, House stood with the help of his cane and carefully balanced his weight onto his good leg, offering his free hand to Wilson.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll take you home."

"What about the party?"

"Doubt you're up for it. I, on the other hand, have already eaten my weight in bird and pig meat."

"Don't make me puke again, please," Wilson groaned. It took some effort, but at length he managed to heave himself up off the floor, his elbow supported by House while his other hand gripped the desk.

Giving a quick glance down again, he added, "Where _did _you take my garbage can, anyway?"

House shrugged innocently. "Let's just say the team will be in for a surprise tomorrow."

"House," Wilson warned.

"Relax – they've been through worse." Firmly but gently, he draped Wilson's arm over his shoulders and steadied himself against his cane, ready to help bear Wilson's weight.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Wilson murmured.

House took the first step forward. "Wish me luck," he said, and together, they began the journey home.

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><p><em>Fin<em>


End file.
